


i'm something else when i see you

by fairytalegay



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Encephalitis, Angst, Dark Will Graham, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied Cannibalism, Love Confessions, M/M, Murder, Museum Date, Post-Episode: s01e09 Trou Normand, Season/Series 01, Will Finds Out, au where hannibal is slightly less of a dick, blatant stealing of canon dialogue, discussions of greek mythology, not like right after but roughly after then, only slightly though, over a dead body, with dead bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalegay/pseuds/fairytalegay
Summary: Will chokes a little on his wine, hopes Hannibal didn’t notice, but knows that he did.  Now, Will won’t lie that his feelings about Hannibal don’t go slightly beyond the platonic realm, and he won’t pretend he doesn’t see the way that Hannibal looks at him sometimes. They’ve been toeing the line between playful banter and flirting for a while, but lately every conversation feels laced with tension. With the addition of their joint care over Abigail, they seem to be heading in a direction Will feels like they were always going to go.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 215





	i'm something else when i see you

**Author's Note:**

> before you begin, i would just like to say that i know absolutely nothing about greek mythology so every reference to it in this comes from what i learned off wikipedia, so i apologise in advance for any inaccuracies
> 
> also, in a move i think possibly no other author on here has done, i would like to thank my mother for beta reading this and generally helping me stay motivated. now you're all jealous you don't have a cool ass mum who helps you write fanfiction about gay murderers. losers.

Hannibal is a difficult man to say no to. Will tends to find himself unable to turn down his requests for them to have dinner, overwhelmed with an inexplicable feeling that he should do what he’s told. After a while he accepts the dinner invites with no hesitation, unsure if it’s because he wants to be in Hannibal’s company or if it’s just become habit, part of his routine. 

It's during one of these dinners that Hannibal mentions the museum. Will had asked him how he spent his weekend, and Hannibal told him about an exhibition of some painter, a fifteenth century Italian type.

"-Crivelli was starkly different from his fellow Renaissance painters, his work was a harsh contrast to the soft and delicate art of others from the period, it was clear and definite, with a precise attention to detail. Seeing his _Madonna and Child_ in person was particularly breathtaking.”

Will didn’t really care about the exhibition, but Hannibal’s voice was a comfort to him, the steady low tones soothed his mind. He supposes it’s a sensory thing, like how he sleeps better when he can hear the rain beating against his window, and if Hannibal has noticed, he hasn’t mentioned it. 

He realises that it’s his turn to speak, years of practice making polite conversation vanish like trying to remember a dream once you’ve woken up, and he stumbles over words.

“I, uh, I’ve never been to- been to that museum.”

“You’ve never been?” Hannibal’s eyes widen a fraction, and after spending countless hours studying the doctor’s micro-expressions, Will knows that Hannibal is acting like Will just confessed something truly shocking.

“I never really had anyone to go with,” That was true, the thought of wandering around a museum by himself just felt… sad.

Hannibal looks at him, considering. Then, quietly, “You have me.”

Will chokes a little on his wine, hopes Hannibal didn’t notice, but knows that he did. Now, Will won’t lie that his feelings about Hannibal don’t go slightly beyond the platonic realm, and he won’t pretend he doesn’t see the way that Hannibal looks at him sometimes. They’ve been toeing the line between playful banter and flirting for a while, but lately every conversation feels laced with tension. With the addition of their joint care over Abigail, they seem to be heading in a direction Will feels like they were always going to go.

"I guess you'll just have to take me sometime," his tone is playful, and he feels slightly giddy at the knowledge that for the first time in years, he's successfully flirting with someone.

Hannibal doesn't even hesitate before he responds, "Tomorrow, then?"

Hannibal hadn't even looked up from his meal, which Will is thankful for as he schools his face into an expression less resembling complete shock. He _is_ free tomorrow, his dogs would be fine for the day, and he finished his marking last night. What's stopping him from saying yes? Nothing, he realises, anxiety and excitement equally overwhelming him.

"Um, yeah, tomorrow's good, I'm free tomorrow."

Hannibal smiles at that, a smile that reaches his eyes, and Will tries not to think about how he's never seen Hannibal smile like that at anyone else. 

"Excellent. I will meet you just outside at ten. Can you make it there that early?"

"Yeah, I get up early most days for my dogs, plus my, uh, dreams tend to wake me around five. Is the museum really open that early?"

Hannibal clears Will’s plate away, so Will doesn't see Hannibal's face as he says "That is exactly when it opens. I thought you would prefer to visit when there aren't many other guests, so you do not have to handle the crowds," but he feels that warm feeling in his chest, constricting his lungs until he feels like he needs to gasp for air. He feels cared about.

  
  


***

  
  


Hannibal is waiting by the door of the building, just outside, just like he said. He stands out against the white brick in his dark overcoat, scarf pulled up against the January chill. Will’s jacket is too thin, too old to keep out the cold, but Hannibal’s gaze warms him. The museum is nearly empty ( _just like he said_ ), there’s only a few other couples milling around in the main area. Will doesn’t have anything he particularly wants to see in specific, so he lets Hannibal guide him through room after room, Hannibal’s hand resting on the small of Will’s back as he tells him the history behind certain objects, the life stories of certain artists. If psychiatry didn’t work out for him, Hannibal could have very easily found success in guided tours, Will thinks to himself amusedly. 

Will comes to a stop in front of a statue by the doorway of a sculpture room. It’s large, about the same size as him, and of a man (Greek looking?) and an eagle. The man appears to be standing on clouds, and Will can’t look away from the hand the man lays on the eagles’ back, the tender look in the man’s eyes.

“Ah, you’ve found Ganymede.”

Will reluctantly turns to face Hannibal, who seems to look... pleased? Will looks at Hannibal expectantly, waiting for Hannibal to explain who the man trapped in marble is.

“ _The Iliad_ describes Ganymede as ‘the loveliest born of the race of mortals, and therefore the gods caught him away to themselves, to be Zeus' wine-pourer, for the sake of his beauty, so he might be among the immortals.’”

Will snorts, “So, what, he was so hot the gods kidnapped him to keep him to themselves? And what’s the eagle?”

Had anyone else responded in that way, Hannibal would be irritated, pissed off even (not that he would word it that way), Will knew that, but Will appeared to be Hannibal’s exception to rudeness. Will could be as sarcastic, snide, or bitchy as he wanted, and Hannibal seemed to delight in it.

“Opinions differ on whether the eagle was simply sent by Zeus, or was the god himself, arriving to take Ganymede to Mount Olympus. Ganymede has been tending sheep, a humble pursuit characteristic of a hero’s boyhood before his privileged status is revealed. Once on Olympus, Zeus granted him eternal life and immortality, so Zeus could keep his beauty forever, always at his side.”

Will considers this, combined with the way the statue of Ganymede looks at the eagle. “Were Zeus and Ganymede lovers?”

Hannibal definitely looks pleased now, his eyes seem to say _“clever boy”_ (Will wishes that one day he could hear those words out loud, rather than implied by slight smiles and warm eyes).

“It was said that Zeus fell in love with Ganymede’s beauty, and while they were never described as lovers, they did inspire the Greek social custom _paiderastía_ , the socially acceptable romantic relationship between an older man and younger man.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of that, but it was called… um, catamite, I think?”

“Indeed, the Latin form of the name is _catamitus_ , but catamite is the name for the younger lover in the relationship. It was considered a term of endearment, and it literally translates to Ganymede.”

“So Ganymede became a symbol for homoerotism?”

“Not just eroticism, Will, he was a symbol for desire, yes, but also for love,” Hannibal looks Will in the eyes, and Will pointedly fixes his gaze over Hannibal’s shoulder, grateful for his known aversion to eye contact, for if he had been able to look, he doesn’t think he could handle what he saw.

They left the museum shortly after that, but not before making a stop at the gift shop. As Will admired the tray of rocks and gemstones (even in his late thirties, Will could never never resist the lure of the sparkly pieces of geode), Hannibal discreetly purchased a postcard of the Ganymede statue. Hannibal hands it to Will as they walk out the building, and Will feels that same warmth in his chest, and as he thanks Hannibal he almost meets his eyes. Will tries not to feel like a teenage girl on her first date when Hannibal walks him to his car, and smiles awkwardly as Hannibal opens his car door for him.

“I had a wonderful time with you, Will, I hope you enjoyed yourself as well,” Hannibal sounds so sincere, Will’s stomach flips.

“Um, yeah, I did. Enjoy myself, I mean. It was fun.”

They stand in silence for a moment, both unsure what to do next, what to say. Will breaks the moment by climbing into his car, stiltedly saying “Okay, bye!”, and mentally berating himself for his awkwardness as Hannibal waves him goodbye. 

When he’s home he sticks the postcard to his fridge, right in the centre.

  
  


***

Will got the call at six in the morning, his phone pulling him out of his usual horrifically vivid nightmares. In all honesty, he knew the moment Jack told him where the crime scene was, he just didn’t accept that he already knew until much later. He drove to Baltimore in a half-awake daze, but conscious that he was taking all the same turns and exits he took a week ago. The sense of deja-vu only heightened when he walked into the museum, walked up the staircase to the sculpture. As he passed paintings, he could hear Hannibal in his head, telling him why the artist chose the composition they chose. 

Jack is waiting for him, frowning into a cup of coffee. He passes the cup to Will, who gratefully accepts and takes a long swig, attempting to wake himself up.

“Is it the Ripper?” he asks.

“It’s your job to tell me that.”

Will nods, and the queasy feeling in his stomach becomes almost unbearable when he sees the body propped up against the familiar statue. Stepping under the yellow tape, he closes his eyes and lets the Ripper flood his mind.

_The body is unimportant. It is simply a security guard, I don’t look at it’s face, I snap its neck from behind. Who it was does not matter, whatever it used to be, it is becoming more. It is easy to drag it to where I need it, to its rightful place. I put down a tarp to protect the statue, I don’t want to damage the art, it is the reason I am here, after all._

_I remove the top half of its skull, the brain is placed in a cooler, it will be cooked tomorrow. It is not important to my design. I cut open its torso, opening it up. Most of the organs are removed like the brain, and join it in the cooler. I will have a feast tomorrow. The heart, however, I have different plans for. It rests in the cavity of the body’s head, it’s message is clear._

_My mind is no longer controlling my actions. Against all odds, my heart has overpowered logic. I fought it every step of the way, but my heart won the fight. I can no longer ignore my desires, not when they consume my every waking moment. I need my love to be seen._ I _need to be seen._

_The body is stuffed with rose petals, a little cliché, but I know he will appreciate them. I hope he will. I rarely feel unsure in my actions, but I am aware that this is a risk. My love could reject me for who I am. I have not planned for that. I know it is a possibility, but in a rare moment of foolish optimism, I am simply hoping for the best._

_No matter his feelings for me, once he sees this, he will see me. He is the only one who can._

Will retches, nothing coming up, just the feeling of being choked from the inside out. An agent rushes over, but Will waves them away. He knows Jack will be over any second, he needs to collect himself, needs to scoop his brains back into his head from where they’ve been blown out. 

The Chesapeake Ripper is in love with him. Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal Lecter is in love with him.

It makes sense. It makes a painful amount of sense. It answers almost every question Will had about Hannibal, fills in almost all the blanks. He understands every little comment Hannibal made, finally gets the punchline in all his jokes. There was something else, another truth Will uncovered. _I will have a feast tomorrow._ The protein scramble. Every meal Hannibal ever made for him. Every dinner party. It’s one way to dispose of evidence, Will grimaces to himself. It’s not just that Hannibal had been feeding him human meat that makes him sick, it’s the fact that it tasted so _good_. Even now, his mouth waters at the thought of the kidney pie Hannibal fed him last month.

Jack is standing at his side, demanding answers. He should tell him everything. He should. There’s no reason for him not to. And yet, those words don’t come out. He feels strangely out of his body, like he’s watching himself tell Jack that it is the Ripper, the Ripper is in love, that this was his declaration of it. When Jack asks the relevance of the statue, Will listens to himself say that he isn’t sure, but it possibly implies that the Ripper and his lover are male. The lies slip so easily from his tongue, a horrible thrill runs up his spine at what he’s doing.

He excuses himself from the crime scene, claiming he’s done everything he could, and he has a headache. The headache part is true. The drive to Hannibal’s house is fairly short, Will is barely aware of the streets he drives down, he still feels like he’s just slightly out of his body. Will knows that Hannibal isn’t working today, he’s at home composing a piece on his harpsichord, or sketching some cathedral in Europe, or chopping up a dead body in his basement. Will pushes thoughts of Hannibal’s forearms stained with blood to the back of his mind.

He doesn’t come back to reality until he’s on Hannibal’s doorstep, ringing the doorbell. The house seems to loom over him, just for a moment feeling like a gothic manor, rather than just a slightly oversized townhouse in the suburbs. Will doesn’t give Hannibal time to say hello, barely lets him open the door fully before he’s pushing past him into the building. 

“You sure know how to ask a guy out, maybe next time just go with some flowers,” Will finally knows what he’s feeling, he’s _furious._

Hannibal looks irritatingly composed, no emotion showing as he says, “I see you got my message.”

Up until that moment, a large part of Will had been trying to convince himself that it was just a series of coincidences, that Hannibal was just going to look confused, and Will would apologise, and everything would be fine. But Hannibal just confirmed it, it’s him.

“I should kill you,” Will realises, “I… I _want_ to kill you.”

Hannibal looks hungry at Will’s confession, Will can see his eyes darken and breath catch in his throat in a way that it very much shouldn’t .

“I want to wrap my hands around your throat until you’re gasping my name, and snap your neck. I want to eat your heart like you fucking deserve.”

Will catches the split second of shock displayed on Hannibal’s face at Will knowing that Hannibal eats his victims, but he smoothes it back over into a blank mask. “I would not allow you to do that, Will.”

Will wants to laugh, wants to scream, wants to cry. He wants to run away and never look back, wants to fall to his knees at Hannibal’s feet and hold on to him as tight as he can. “Would you kill me?” The question “ _Will you kill me?”_ goes unsaid, they both know the answer.

“I couldn’t. Not now.” Hannibal is visibly struggling to keep his mask on, Will can see it cracking at the edges and emotion bleeding through.

“So I turn you in. I call Jack, he arrests you. Would you let me do that?” A voice in the back of Will’s head points out that if Will was going to turn Hannibal in, he would have the second Jack came over to him at the crime scene.

“Yes.”

Will shakes his head in disbelief, “You would rot in prison for the rest of your life. I wouldn’t visit you.” _Liar,_ the voice hisses.

“I know,” There’s a finality in Hannibal’s voice that makes Will feel sick, “But as it is the only option you see, I would let you.”

“Why?”

“I thought you said you got my message,” There’s humour in Hannibal’s voice, a smirk slightly tugging at his lips.

“Sorry, I was so caught up in you being the Ripper, it slipped my mind that you were also in love with me,” Will laughs sardonically, if Hannibal can find humour in this fucked-up situation, so can he.

“You think I’m in love with you,” Hannibal says it like one of those annoying psychiatrist half question-half statements, like this is just a discussion in their ~~therapy~~ conversations. It makes Will want to punch him.

“I know you are. I can feel it.”

“It confuses you,” another question-statement, god, Hannibal can be such a _bastard._

“Yes. I don’t understand, why me?” Will cringes as he says it, feeling like a character in a lazily-written romcom (a very murdery romcom).

“Do you believe in soulmates, Will? Plato once said ‘humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.’ I feel as if I have spent my whole life searching for you, Will, without even knowing it. When I first saw you, locked eyes with you, I knew that I would do anything to have you. I see you, Will, just as you see me. I see the power within you. There is an animal inside of you, clawing its way out. Let me free the beast, Will. Let me show you what you could be.”

With every word Hannibal stepped closer to Will, coming to a stop just behind him, and as he said the last few words Will could feel Hannibal’s breath on the back of his neck. Will desperately resists the urge to lean back into Hannibal’s warmth as he shakily asks, “What could I be?”

Hannibal leans in, and whispers “You could be a god,” and Will can’t help but shudder.

He swallows the lump in his throat and tries to gather his thoughts and respond with something other than “ _God, yes, take me now.”_ He ends up going with the moderately more sensible, “I don’t think I could. I- I don’t have your appetite.”

Hannibal steps out in front of him, and for a moment Will thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he asks “What if I could give you the opportunity to find out if you do, ah, have the appetite?”

Hannibal is holding his hand out, and Will thinks there’s fondness in his eyes, along with undeniable excitement. If Will ran now, would Hannibal let him? Would he watch Will leave, disappointed but resigned? Will takes his hand, lets Hannibal lead him to a basement Will didn’t even know he had. He chooses to focus on the feeling of Hannibal’s hand in his own, rather than the dark cement walls and sterile tarps and chains. Hannibal directs Will over to a back wall where, lying on the ground in a heap, is a man. He’s alive - unconscious, Will guesses - and gagged and bound. 

“I planned on using him for meat, as I have already made my tableau for the month, but it has presented itself as an opportunity for you to decide who you want to be, Will.”

Will watches warily, unable to look at Hannibal as he asks, “What did he do? I mean, why did you choose him?”

Although he can’t see it, Will knows Hannibal is smiling. “Usually all a person needs to do to end up on my dinner table is to be rude.”

Will looks at him now, eyes wide as Hannibal is, indeed, smiling. Hannibal looks thoroughly pleased with himself, and possibly with Will, who says “You said ‘usually’.”

“Indeed. This man, however, ended up here because I saw him kick his dog on a walk in my local park. I couldn’t help thinking how angry you would be with him, and before I knew it I was following him home.”

Will feels touched. Should he feel touched? He’s not sure what’s happened that Hannibal kidnapping a man because he knew Will would hate him is the most romantic thing he’s had done for him in a long time.

“Is the dog okay?” He can’t help but ask, picturing a mutt cowering in the corner as Hannibal incapacitates his owner and leaves it alone and terrified.

Hannibal chuckles, “I handed it into the local rescue centre in the guise of finding him as a stray. Considering how malnourished it was, it was very believable.”

And that’s it, that’s all Will needs. He feels a hot, white flash or rage, and that’s all it takes for him to turn to Hannibal, lean into him, and look up through his lashes and ask “Will you show me how to do it?”

Will bites back a grin as Hannibal takes a long, shaky breath before asking “How would you like to do it, dear boy?”

The pet name causes Will’s cheeks to flush under the stark lighting, and he bites his lip as he looks at the tools Hannibal has laid out. His eyes catch on a hunting knife, he picks it up and tests its weight in his hand, and for a brief moment he thinks of Abigail in her childhood home, hunting knife in her hand and coated in another person’s blood.

“I want to gut him.”

“I can show you how to do that without damaging the organs, if you like?”

Will nods, watching as Hannibal shoves the man upright, which in turn wakes the man up. He begins, understandably, screaming as much as he can around the gag, which Hannibal ignores as tears open the man’s t-shirt. When Hannibal has stepped to the side, Will kneels in front of the man and waits for Hannibal’s instructions. Following Hannibal’s directions, Will carves into his now-crying victim, shushing him as his knife glides through flesh like butter. Blood sprays onto Will’s clothes and onto his face, but he can’t seem to care, distracted by the way the man’s abdomen splits open revealing the organs inside, and he’s overwhelmed with the desire to _touch._

For the first time since starting, he looks to Hannibal, who is sitting on the other side of the body and equally drenched in blood (Later on, Will apologises for ruining Hannibal’s obviously expensive suit, but Hannibal waves him off, explaining he can easily buy a new one.), and Hannibal looks at him with adoration seeping out of him, lust blowing his pupils wide. Maintaining eye contact with Hannibal, Will reaches up under the man’s sternum and wraps his hand around his heart, feels it beat its last beats right in the palm of his hand. 

As the heart stills, Will pulls his blood-soaked hand out and leans over to Hannibal, who leans in like Will has a magnetic pull, and cups Hannibal cheek in his hand. Hannibal seems to stop breathing entirely, freezing in place as Will closes the distance between them. Will kisses insistently, Hannibal quickly coming back to life and returning Will’s enthusiasm and intensity, kissing Will like he needs it like air. 

When they reluctantly break apart to breathe, Hannibal takes Will’s hands in his own and says, “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will, for both of us.”

Will looks at the red handprint on Hannibal's cheek. “It’s beautiful.”

As Will sits back and watches Hannibal deftly cut the organs from the body, he laughs and says, mainly to himself, “I _said_ the Ripper had worked as a surgeon.”

Hannibal looks up from where he was placing a kidney in a cooler, and grins, “Clever boy.”

Later, when they’re both clean and in fresh clothes (Will borrowing from Hannibal’s closet), Hannibal pours them both wine he was saving for “a special occasion”.

Will clinks his glass against Hannibal’s and asks, “What do we do now?”

Hannibal takes a sip of his wine before responding, “Whatever you like, my dear Will.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! please comment any and all thoughts, i love validation and honestly any kind of attention
> 
> (also, the museum hannibal and will visit is a real museum in baltimore called the walter's art museum, and the ganymede statue is also real and belongs to the museum, but however is not on display, which means you can't re-enact this fic for yourself :/)


End file.
